It was quite strange, this feeling, Zara thought. It felt almost like the early beginnings of period pain – but not quite. She watched, in bemused fascination, as Lilly fiddled with that long strand of hair which appeared to have oh so carelessly, fallen loose from the rest of her otherwise immaculate conker-shiny ponytail. Zara thought it strange that Lilly’s ponytails always seemed to remain perfectly in tact when it was just the two of them talking. Perhaps Lilly’s loose strands are only fiddle-worthy when she’s talking to friends’ husbands, Zara found herself thinking, somewhat bitchily. Or perhaps only to James, her husband, who didn’t seem to be rejecting Lilly’s soft giggling, sudden downcast eye movements, or those always-so-perfectly-manicured fingers reaching across to touch his arm. How utterly ridiculous, she hissed inwardly, taking a massive slug from her glass of prosecco, followed by, Where the Hell has this suddenly come from? Stop being so stupid.
But Zara knew exactly where it was coming from. And she couldn’t stop her right hand from reaching round to stroke her belly – which felt as rounded and slack from having three large babies as it always did. Breathing-in only worked for so long. She’d known a silver satin dress wouldn’t suit her, even as she’d picked it from the rail, but Lilly had been there, encouraging her, as she always used to.
‘Zar, trust me. It looks amazing on you. Treat yourself to something sexy. You deserve it, hun…’
~~~
Lilly was feeling awkward, even before arriving. These were Zara’s friends, not hers. All confident acadaemics. All deep-thinkers. All rooted in left-of-centre idealogy. That immediate fear about not fitting in was never too far beneath the surface: Lilly realised this – wrapped herself inside it, almost – like the reassurance of a stinking old dog blanket. Thank Christ James is here, she thought, weaving across the room with a very large G&T in her hand. Oops, perhaps those two earlier G&Ts and that little bump of coke were not quite as wise as she’d first planned.
‘Hey you! How are ya? Great to see you. I was really pleased when Zara said you were coming.’
James was grabbing Lilly by her arms and pulling her in, tightly. She felt a strand of hair from her pony tail fall loose, and immediately tried to retrieve it, but succeeded only in giving it an awkward stroke. Don’t make a tit of yourself, she inwardly hissed, as James’ after-shave, that familiar oily citrusy musk he always used to wear, wafted-up between them. And suddenly she was there again. The wood. The damp ferns. That fusty old shed. His body was too close, and so she tried a light oh this is fun laugh. It sounded stupidly hollow, even to her.
‘ You look amazing! Come here and tell me what you’ve been up to, you little minx, you.’ That last part was said quietly, almost like an afterthought, and in that second, Lilly realised he hadn’t changed. Not one bit. She stepped back a little, looked down and lightly touching his arm, whispered, ‘I would, but I’d have to kill you afterwards…’